


Wi-Fighting

by vulcanhearted (wildewinged)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Attempt at Humor, Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildewinged/pseuds/vulcanhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard's been having some... technical difficulties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wi-Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://tumblr.tastefullyoffensive.com/post/44265180730/wi-fighting), though I edited the screencaps to fit the story.

Leonard lets the door bang shut behind him as he enters his apartment, too tired after his long day to bother closing it gently. No matter which way you spin it, residency is utter hell. It’s a damn good thing he genuinely enjoys practicing medicine, he thinks. Somehow there are a few clingers-on from med school that are clearly in it for the “money” - like they’ll actually see any of that before it gets sucked up by loan payments for a good decade at least, he snorts. They’re looking even more ragged than he feels, which is really saying something. 

He sniffs the box of leftover Chinese in the fridge and shrugs before dumping it in a bowl and punching in reheat on the microwave. It won’t taste great, but like most nights, he’s not looking to do more than flop onto the couch and veg for the remainder of the evening. 

The microwave beeps, and he startles. He’d been listing against the counter, half-asleep on his feet. Shaking his head at himself, Leonard settles on the couch with his bowl and tugs his laptop closer. 

After he logs in, he pulls up his email, frowning as he munches idly at his noodles. The loading bar is inching along at a glacial pace. And, surprise, stabbing “refresh” with greater and greater force accomplishes jack-shit. 

“Fucking fabulous,” he mutters. Computer issues are the last thing he needs right now. 

He pulls up Network Diagnostics and taps through all the prompts, to no avail. Scowling at its conclusion (“Your Internet connection appears to be working correctly”), Leonard indulges in a heartfelt groan of misery before he resumes his troubleshooting. That is _clearly_ not the case. 

Maybe disconnecting and reconnecting manually would do it? He clicks the little Wi-Fi icon, navigates to the list of networks, looking for his - “sawbones”, because he’d told the the tech who’d set it up he was a doctor and the guy thought he was _so_ funny. Leonard couldn’t be bothered to learn how to change it. He’s about to click it when he notices another network’s name. He rereads it, mouth falling open in disbelief. 

“You little _shit_ ,” he breathes. One (extremely fucking _slow_ ) Google search lets him know that this dick can do that because his network isn’t “secure”. Whatever that means. He tries to Google that too, but he can’t get the damn screencaps in the tutorial to load, and hell if he can understand all the techspeak. 

Leonard does manage to figure out how to change his network’s name, though. 

He’s only had the little window open for a minute before the last network on the list changes in a quick blink of text. 

“Call Geek Squad?” he reads. He Googles them too, killing time while it loads by finishing his (now-cold) takeout. He clicks over to the “Pricing” tab. It’s a really image-heavy site. Idiotic, really, considering their customers supposedly have computer problems. The page loads. He chokes on his noodles. 

“God fucking dammit to hell,” he says eloquently, once he can breathe again. 

He’s glad, a few days later, that he didn’t succumb to the frustration of the moment and actually schedule an appointment. Cold takeout would’ve been an extreme luxury after the dent that bill would’ve made. “Thank you,” he says fervently, watching Christine tap efficiently away at his laptop. 

“No problem, Len,” she says brusquely. “Not having to do inventory this week is worth much more than a bit of tech support.” 

“Now you tell me, you hustler,” he jokes. 

She shoots him a grin over her shoulder, clicking a few more times before she sits back and declares herself done. He peers down at the network selection window, the little lock icon now sitting bold next to his precious Wi-Fi. “Just one finishing touch,” he smirks. He opens the settings, types ‘hah suck on my secure connection’, and sits back with a satisfied sigh. 

Christine laughs when she reads his little parting message to the mystery Wi-Fi thief. “And everyone at work thinks you’re all bark,” she says fondly.

“What?” he says. “Who said that? I need to maintain fear or the new residents will never take me seriously.” 

However, Christine doesn’t answer, eyes flicking over the laptop screen again. “Oh my god,” she laughs. Leonard spins back around, quickly digesting the two changed network names. 

“Who _is_ this person?” he growls. He shakes his head, just about ready to take Last Wi-Fi Network’s advice and let it go, when the first network changes again. “ _Whatever, your iTunes library sucked_?!” he reads out loud, incredulous. Christine puts her head in her hands as he puffs up with righteous fury. 

“Come on, Len, let it go,” she says, somewhat muffled by her hand. Or her giggles. Hard to say. He’s too busy typing to check. 

Leonard stabs the enter key _hard_ once he’s updated his network name. 

“Dave Matthews Band is _classic_ ,” he insists, to Christine’s raised eyebrow. Somehow he gets the feeling she’s on Last Wi-Fi Network’s side, but she rolls her eyes and watches the action anyway. 

Leonard glares the laptop down, waiting. He knows Wi-Fi Thief, Grand Asshole of Apartment Building 1701, will have a retort any second now, and he is _so_ ready. Drumming his fingertips against the mousepad doesn’t make his laptop (or Christine) too happy, but it helps him keep the outrage going strong. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t ready. That’s the most his rational brain can get in before it’s all capslock rage, and Christine has to pin his legs to the couch so he can’t get up and _find this infuriating little bastard._

“Listen to the last guy, Len, remember to breathe,” Christine encourages from her lazy sprawl over his knees. “Gotta keep that blood pressure down.” 

A few days later, Leonard would like to say he’s forgotten the incident. His internet’s back to normal (though he hasn’t risked opening the network selection window to edit the name). He might even cautiously say that his night is going well - off work as early as eight, with a whole night of uninterrupted Netflix in front of him. 

He’s even mustered the effort to cook up a quick dinner of chicken and dumplings. The broth has just started to boil when he hears a sharp tap-tap-tap at the door. He pauses, listening - he doesn’t really get unexpected visitors. Sure enough, that same tap-tap-tap sounds again a moment later. 

Shrugging, Leonard wipes his hands on the dish towel and goes to answer it. He pulls open the door to a tall, slim man, calm and poised even after the wait. “Hello?” he asks cautiously. 

“Hello. I am Spock,” the guy says. He doesn’t offer a hand to shake, keeping both tucked in the small of his back. His dark eyes track up and down Leonard, taking in his sweatpants (with a splatter of broth on the left leg) and holey university t-shirt. Leonard shifts uncomfortably; he can’t help but feel like a bug under a microscope under the intensity of that gaze. Fortunately, tall-dark-and-handsome’s next words shut that feeling down pretty quick. 

“Have you experienced Internet issues recently?” 

For a split second Leonard doesn’t react. Then he’s seeing red again like his network was hijacked yesterday instead of nearly a week ago. “That was _you?_ ” he hisses, stalking up to the doorway. 

Spock holds up a hand to forestall him. “No, do not be ridiculous.” 

“I’ll be as ridiculous as I damn well please,” Leonard snaps back. This guy’s unshakable calm is only fueling his ire at this point, which is... actually kind of familiar. “Wait, were you the guy telling us to quit it?” 

“I am - and I am pleased you can see sense,” Spock confirms, though the quirk of his eyebrow hints at his private opinion of Leonard’s rationality. 

“Well, do you know who it was?” Leonard demands. 

Spock nods. “My roommate. Jim is…” Spock searches for words, settling on “...mischievous.” 

“Where do you guys live?” Leonard asks, charging out the door, only to slam directly into Spock. Jesus, the guy’s a solid wall of muscle - he hadn’t moved at all. Spock steps back a single pace with a slight frown, tugging his shirt back into place. 

“I am not here to reignite the conflict,” Spock explains down his nose, even more imperiously calm from this angle. “I merely wish to repay any bills for technical support services on Jim’s behalf.” 

“Tech support?” Leonard sputters. “Oh my god, I - okay. I didn’t have to pay anyone, someone from my work helped out.” 

Spock nods, a fleeting shadow of approval on his face. “A wise utilization of resources.” As if this has fulfilled his conversational quota, he turns to go. 

“Hey, wait a second!” Leonard calls. “How the hell did you even find me?” 

Turning, Spock raises an eyebrow. “I knocked on doors within Wi-Fi range and inquired if they had experienced issues.” Like _that’s_ a completely normal and obvious course of action. Spock’s walking off down the hall before Leonard’s even begun processing that statement. 

He takes a second to sprint to his stove and turn it off, and then he’s hot on Spock’s heels. 

He gets the eyebrow again. “Mr…?” 

“McCoy, Leonard McCoy,” he supplies. “I am giving this _Jim_ a piece of my mind, I don’t care what you say.” 

“As you please,” Spock says. He reaches the door of one of the corner apartments, which makes sense - if Leonard remembers correctly, they’re the only two-bedroom units. 

“Didja find the guy?” someone calls from within, as soon as Spock’s entered. Leonard can hear the laughter in his voice, and he grits his teeth. 

“Indeed,” Spock answers, removing his shoes at the door. His pointed glance makes it clear Leonard should do the same if he wants to come in. Leonard kicks them off quickly before stalking in, Spock following more sedately. 

“Damn right he found me,” he barks, rounding a corner to find a man who must be Jim sprawled on a couch. 

“Oh, shit,” Jim says, but he tosses his head back on a laugh as he does. “I’m sorry, man, I was just having some fun. And hey, now you know how to get a secure network connection!” 

Leonard is very mad at him for being so luminously pretty when he’s trying to ride a week-old wave of well-justified anger. “Ugh,” he says, heartfelt. 

“Have a seat,” Jim suggests, gesturing to a spot on the couch. Leonard does, slumping back with a sigh. 

“Um,” Jim continues. “I swear I didn’t download anything - uh - illegal. And I only got the idea since _someone_ -” he casts a meaningful glance toward the kitchen Spock’s disappeared into - “was using up all our bandwidth.” 

“I had informed you previously that the simulation would require such an expenditure. There is a public library with free Internet access one block away,” comes Spock’s measured voice. Jim rolls his eyes and slings an arm over Leonard’s shoulder, who startles but allows it. He can’t imagine why he does. 

Spock reemerges carrying a tray of what looks like iced tea, setting it on the coffee table before perching lightly to Leonard’s other side. “There is sugar in the dish, should you desire iced tea in the style favored by those in the Southern United States, as your accent indicates you may,” he says. “I can also provide water if you prefer.” 

Leonard can only blink. These two are _surreal_. He takes the tea with sugar anyhow. He also says thank you, because his mama raised him right. 

They all sip their tea in silence for a few minutes (though Jim makes an exaggerated face at the flavor at first). Funny how conversational topics elude a person when the first meeting is characterized by incandescent rage, Leonard muses. He also can't figure out who to look at, eyes flicking from Jim - mouth perpetually quirked as if in some private joke - to Spock - radiating quiet contentment, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he sips. 

“So, wanna listen to some Dave Matthews Band, _Bones_?” Jim asks slyly. Spock huffs what might be a sigh. Leonard narrows his eyes. Oh, it is _on._


End file.
